The Northeast Tower
by SpankyElf
Summary: When life gets stressful, and the weight of all the lives depending on him pushes him past his limits; when the lyrium calls to him and the nightmares ruin his rest, Cullen gives up all control in a small room at the top of the abandoned northeast tower. A sensual interlude for the Commander of the Inquisition forces and the Inquisitor.


As soon as Cullen woke up at dawn - woke up already stressed and impatient, woke up out of nightmares, woke up with a headache already settled between his temples - he knew how the day would end.

Even knowing, he still waited until he was alone in his office before sliding open the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulling out a much worn piece of paper. He took the box which had held his lyrium supplies, and set it on the corner of his desk. Looking around guiltily at his empty office, he unfolded the paper, and read the beginning again.

Whenever the withdrawal gets to be too much, whenever the stress and expectations start to overwhelm you, follow these instructions.

He didn't actually read any further, he didn't need to. He had memorized the instructions the first time he had read it, and he had followed them more times than he was willing to count since then. Besides, just reading the beginning, knowing he had made the decision already, had his cock hardening in his pants.

He fought the urge to do anything about that; it was against the rules. Just make it through the day, he told himself. He told himself that a lot throughout the day, and each time, his cock responded eagerly.

Finally, supper was finished, the night watch was set, and Cullen could close himself in his office with a reasonable expectation of not being bothered again for the night. The lyrium box was gone, replaced in his desk drawer. So, the signal had been seen and agreed to. He gave it twenty minutes, just to be sure no one would come looking for him, before slipping out the far door and making his way silently to the abandoned northeast tower.

Once there, he lit the single candle and set it on the table. He stripped quickly and left his clothes, folded neatly, on the table. He picked up the four leather cuffs, one at a time, and buckled them around his ankles and wrists. Finally, he picked up the heavy velvet blindfold and ran it slowly through his fingers as he walked back to the center of the room.

This was the last instruction, and his last choice of the night; his last moment of control. Taking the blindfold, he fixed it securely over his eyes before kneeling in the center of the room. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Now, he had nothing to do but wait.

Sometimes, the wait was short; he would barely be settling before she came. Other times, the wait was longer; he had no way to keep time, of course, but he would kneel here long enough for his breathing to slow and his heart rate to settle before she came. No matter what, she never came before the blindfold had been securely tied around his head and he was kneeling patiently in the very center of the room.

The wait was short tonight. He heard the door open, felt the cool breeze that snuck around it in the few seconds it took her to slip inside and close the door. As always, he strained his ears, trying desperately to hear the click of the lock. As always, he couldn't be sure if he didn't hear it because it was too quiet, or because it hadn't been locked. The possibility of someone wandering into the room sent a chill down his spine.

Her touch on his shoulder, smooth and gentle, startled him into a flinch. Her hand slid lightly across his back to his other shoulder, soothingly. He never heard her footsteps, never heard any noise she didn't want him to no matter how hard he tried to listen. She wouldn't be heard unless she wanted him to hear. Between the silence with which she moved and the lack of vision because of the blindfold, he never knew what to expect.

But then, that was the point.

Tonight, she started with slow, light touches. His arms rested loosely at his sides, and she seemed content to leave him like that for now. Her fingers traced over his shoulders, down his back. They lifted to run up his neck and into his hair, tangling gently in his curls.

She never checked the knot on the blindfold, a sign of trust that was reassuring each time he noticed it. He wasn't the only one who trusted.

Finally, she cupped a hand around his elbow and urged him wordlessly to his feet. She never spoke, on these nights, simply moving him into the positions she wanted, trusting that her commands would be understood through her touch, and obeyed. She never spoke, but he was not under that same restraint - he was free to say anything he wanted, make any noise he wanted. He knew it would stay in this room; more, he knew that - with one single exception - nothing he said would have any bearing on what happened.

He stood, the first blush of the night rising to his cheeks; standing, it was so much more obvious that he was rock hard, his cock standing eagerly at attention, with no more encouragement than her hands on his shoulders and neck. For now, she ignored the source of his blush, though her fingers ghosted across his burning cheeks with what he could only imagine was amusement. Then, she took his right hand, and raised it, attaching the cuff to one of the conveniently placed chains hanging from the center beam. His left arm was next, and Cullen rolled his shoulders, settling into a comfortable position. The position didn't put any strain on him, but he was effectively immobilized.

Her hand on his chest got another slight startle. A finger tapped lightly on his pectoral, chidingly, before she began running her hands over him. Her touch was soothing, and her hands hadn't wandered anywhere that a common massage wouldn't reach; he started to relax. As the tension of the day seeped away, she moved silently around him; her fingers traced scars, followed the long lines of muscles, or moved to some pattern only she could see.

She ignored his still throbbing erection, and even as he relaxed, he huffed slightly with annoyance. Finally, as she moved behind him again, her hand dipped down, and slid over his ass, squeezing gently. He tried to press back, wanting more contact, but she evaded him. A second later, a sharp swat landed on his ass, stinging and making him gasp. He held perfectly still, but it wasn't repeated. A warning, then. He heeded it, and stood still again. There was a pause, perhaps while she decided whether he would behave, then she was touching him again.

Cullen groaned. She had given up on her hands; instead, she was running her mouth over him. Tongue, lips, teeth, all traced the same paths her hands had so recently explored, and he shivered. And, like her hands, her mouth avoided any interesting areas.

Then he felt her hands on his ass again, and suddenly the touch wasn't so innocent. Her fingers slid across his skin, and slipped down to run along the crease where ass met thighs; then fingers were replaced by her mouth tracing the same path.

His breath was coming faster, with little needy whines mixed in, as she came around to stand in front of him again. She stood, motionless, and he could only imagine that she was staring at him. Surely he made quite the sight: blindfolded, arms bound above his head, muscles and scars picked out by the flickering light of the single candle, his blush had most likely spread down his chest, his cock standing straight up despite not being touched even once.

When her hands gripped his hips, he gasped, and couldn't stop himself from thrusting forward in the blind hope of some contact with his throbbing cock. She stayed out of reach, somehow, holding him firmly and waiting for him to be still. When he was centered again, he was rewarded by her mouth on his chest again. This time, she found his nipples, and teased with teeth and tongue.

She kissed lightly over each, then ran her tongue over first one nipple, then the other. A cool breath directed across his chest had his skin puckering and his nipples tightening. She caught one at a time in her teeth, worrying them gently until his hips were jerking in her grip.

He heard her annoyed huff, before she released him and stepped back. He tried to catch his breath, tried to focus on anything besides the throbbing in his groin, and the desire burning through him.

He couldn't concentrate on anything else, though; already her purpose was being achieved: his world had narrowed to this room and his own body. He couldn't even remember the things that had been causing his stress earlier in the day; couldn't remember the pull of the lyrium; couldn't remember the headache or the nightmares. Her movements, his responses, were the only things that mattered right now.

Finally, she touched him again, a hand on his ankle, above the leather cuff. When he felt the weight of the bar she attached there, he automatically shifted his weight, and stepped his other foot out further to accommodate the bar that would keep his legs spread to about shoulder width. He was almost relieved; some nights, she expected him to hold that position on his own. He was never completely successful, and she always punished the failure. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign, or a bad sign, that she wasn't going to make him try tonight.

There was another pause, while he stood there, straining desperately to hear a whisper of sound or feel a change in the air that would let him know where she was. Finally, contact returned, but not her hand.

Cullen braced himself when he felt the stiff leather loop glide up his side. It might be a warning, it might be it's own end. Tonight, it was both.

It was the loop at the end of a riding crop; he knew this because some nights it was waiting on the table when he arrived and he always eyed it warily. Other nights, she would surprise him with it.

Tonight, she skimmed it up his side, dragged it across his stomach - carefully avoiding his bobbing cock, ignoring his breath held in both hope and trepidation - and around his other side. She brushed the leather up and down each leg, skimming it in a barely-there touch to his balls in passing.

Cullen shifted, knees bending, trying to get a firmer contact, and the crop was immediately withdrawn. It returned a second later, landing sharply on his ass and drawing a yelp from him. She peppered his ass with with quick strokes of the crop; just hard enough to sting and set him to squirming. When she stopped, she replaced the crop with her hand, running her fingers over his reddened skin. He moaned, but didn't push back against her hand.

She patted his ass, and stepped away. Then, the crop was trailing lightly up and down his left leg. Cullen braced himself for another teasing brush against his balls, determined to hold still this time, but it didn't come. Instead, she brought the crop up between his legs, the flat edge of it lifting his balls slightly. She bounced them lightly on the end of the crop, and the sensation made him squirm. He stilled immediately as the crop was withdrawn, but she didn't chastise him again. Instead her hand cupped his balls, squeezing gently and drawing another moan from him. She patted his ass, and walked around him again; he moaned at the loss of contact.

He wasn't expecting the touch, when it came. A single finger, starting at the base of his cock and dragging up the underside to the tip. It drew a strangled groan from him, and his hips lifted, trying to follow that finger and prolong the contact. She circled her finger around the head of his cock twice, a steady pressure that was just enough to be infuriatingly too little, before stepping away.

He collapsed as far as his bound arms would let him, breath coming in uneven gasps and strangled moans. Before he could collect himself, she was back, her hand closing around his cock, gloriously tight. A slow stroke up his length drew the first words of the night from him.

"Please. Oh, please."

A breathy laugh was his only answer, but the hand slid up and down his aching erection two more times. He tried to thrust into her fingers, desperately searching for more contact, but he only succeeded in making her remove her hand entirely.

He was whimpering from the lack of contact, when he felt her hands on his hips, and a warm breath ghosted over his cock. He held himself rigidly still, determined not to do anything to make her withdraw again.

He managed to stay motionless, and was rewarded by a repetition of that first touch to his cock - a long slow stroke from base to tip - except this time it was her tongue on him.

"Maker. Please, more, please."

He was babbling, begging, but he didn't care. His cock bobbed wildly, desperate for the sensation of her mouth around him. And, amazingly, she complied, her lips closing around his tip before sliding his entire length into her warm mouth.

She started working him quickly, a steady pace that made it impossible for him to stay still. For several moments, he didn't think about anything except the incredible feeling of her mouth on him; her tongue teasing along the underside of his cock as she sucked lightly, sliding him in and out of her mouth. He was almost there, almost…

Before he could remember to dread it, she was pulling away, leaving his cock to wave hopelessly in the air, his hips thrusting uselessly as his building orgasm faded to nothing. He was breathing in sobbing gasps, involuntary moans in each breath as release slid further out of reach.

He didn't know how long it took him to settle, but she didn't touch him again until he was standing straight and breathing normally again. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, tried to focus on what was about to happen, instead of the lost orgasm.

When he let it out, he felt her hands on him again. She was behind him, her hands smoothing up and down his back. It took him a moment to realize there was something different about the sensation. Oil. She had some sort of oil in her hands and it made them glide over his skin in a manner that made him moan. He knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, she spread the warm oil over his back, then came around and worked it into his chest, stopping once or twice to add more oil to her palms. He was breathing quickly again, trying to stop himself from pushing his hips forward to offer her his cock. She would get there in her own time, he knew. Finally, she did.

Her hands, slick with the warm oil, felt even better than her mouth had, and he moaned loudly. She held him loosely, moving her hand up and down his length. Cullen fought with himself, biting his bottom lip; it was a bad idea to beg, but her touch was infuriatingly just shy of enough. Finally, he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh, Maker, please, harder. Squeeze harder, please."

He could almost hear her smirk; he was sure she was smirking at him, because she did as he asked. She tightened her hand around his cock, holding him in a gloriously firm, slippery grip. But she stopped moving. His cock twitched in her hand, but she ignored it.

She had done as he asked, but she wasn't going to give him what he wanted. That wasn't what these nights were about, after all, not what he wanted at all.

Cullen hung there, cock pulsing in her grip, and finally lost the battle. He thrust his hips forward, sliding his cock wonderfully between her tight fingers once, twice…

She let go, and even as he whimpered at the loss of contact, she flicked the head of his cock and turned his whimper into a shocked yelp. Before he could decide whether it was pain or pleasure that was flooding his senses, her hand closed around him again and started pumping, fast and tight, and he forgot everything else in pursuit of release.

He was more mindful, this time around, the expectation that she would stop right when he was on the edge floated in the back of his mind; so when she did, he was slightly less shocked. No less disappointed, though. His disappointment made itself known in swearing and begging, all mixed together in a barely intelligible jumble.

She didn't let him get his balance back, just waited a few breaths for his impending orgasm to fade before her hand was back on him, stroking him again, winding him higher and tighter.

She stopped again, of course, and he nearly sobbed at the loss of her touch. She didn't start stroking him again; instead, she moved behind him and removed the bar from his ankle cuffs. Cullen was startled speechless - did she mean to deny him completely? She had kept him on the edge like this before, bringing him just to the brink before stopping, over and over until he could think of nothing except the release he craved. But she had always let him cum eventually, so what was this? He couldn't find the words to ask, though, through the haze of desire and confusion, so he remained silent while she worked.

His feet free, she moved to his arms. He thought she was freeing them as well, but when he tried to lower his arms, he found he was still bound, just more loosely. When she pressed down on his shoulder, he understood. He knelt, and the extra length was enough to let him land on his knees with his arms still held above him. Why he was in this position became clear a moment later.

He could hear her moving, more sound than he was usually granted, and then, something warm and wet brushed against his cock. At first, he thought it was her mouth again, but as she seized him in her hand and lined him up, he suddenly knew that it wasn't her mouth. She pressed steadily against him, and he thrust eagerly forward, burying himself in her cunt with a shout of ecstasy.

It didn't take long before he realized that this position wasn't any less of a tease than anything else she had done to him. Kneeling, his arms secured above his head, he had no leverage for the sorts of thrusts his cock was demanding. He was at her mercy, if she moved back against him when he thrust, it was wonderful; if she moved forward with his thrust, he didn't get anything but frustration.

They moved like that for some time, some thrusts she allowed him, others she would blunt, making him moan and beg. Eventually, she moved on to something else.

She leaned forward until only the tip of his cock was inside her, then began pleasuring herself with it. She rolled her hips, undulating in a circular motion that had him gasping. Then she moved so he was completely out of her, and let his head brush against her clit. That seemed to please her, because she rocked enthusiastically against him for several minutes before letting his cock push back into her. It didn't take many more of the shallow thrusts she allowed him before she came. Her inner walls clamped around just the head of his cock and he shouted at the sensation.

He'd kept up a steady stream of pleas the entire time, and finally, her body still shaking from her orgasm, she slid backwards until her ass was flush against him. She was still, and when he didn't move, she wiggled her ass encouragingly. It was the only permission he needed to start a desperate pace, slamming into her with as much force as he could manage without any leverage.

Even so, it didn't take long before his orgasm built again. She seemed to be able to tell he was getting close - even like this - and bucked her hips back against him, taking him higher. He was babbling incoherently now, snapping his hips frantically, determined to make it this time before she could deny him again.

She had no intention of stopping him, and finally, he came with a shout, filling her as he felt her walls clenching around him a second time.

He was panting, and now he could hear her panting as well. Not so quiet now, was she? He almost smiled at the thought. Slowly, she pulled off him, and stood.

He could hear her as she moved around the room. She dressed herself, then cleaned him gently. She unhooked his wrists, and kissed his forehead as he slumped back on his heels with a sigh.

When he summoned the strength to removed the blindfold, she was already gone.

As usual.

Slowly, Cullen stood. He folded the blindfold and set it on the table; removed the cuffs from his wrists and ankles, and set them neatly on the table. He dressed again, and took a final look around the little room. No one would be able to guess what went on in here, aside from the table. He blew out the candle and left, closing the door and locking it behind him.

When he had climbed the ladder to his room, he fell into bed; a deep satisfaction relaxing him into the mattress. The headache was gone, the call of the lyrium was silenced. He had given up control, and in doing so, had regained his balance, and his control.

Tomorrow, he would be back to carrying the weight of being the Commander of the Inquisition forces; thanks to her, he would be able to shoulder the weight comfortably.

And, when it became too much, he could always leave the lyrium box out again, and relinquish control in that little room in the abandoned northeast tower.


End file.
